


"Morning." - A Patrochilles Short

by CrazyCranberry



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cute, Happy Ending, Inappropriate Use of Dishware, M/M, Mugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 13:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19319023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyCranberry/pseuds/CrazyCranberry
Summary: "I agreed to marry you, you..." Patroclus said, cheeks a vibrant crimson and Achilles' smile began to crumple.





	"Morning." - A Patrochilles Short

“Morning.”

“Morning,” Patroclus muttered, shuffling into the living room. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pulling his robe tighter across his chest to keep out the chill. The cotton was soft, softer than anything he’d ever owned--a birthday gift from Achilles. It made him want to crawl back into bed, soak up the warmth still lingering in the sheets... But the smell of coffee had lured him from their room. Achilles was awake earlier than was normal, sitting curled in the armchair by the fireplace. He wore a pair of loose fitting sweats, t-shirt stretched tight across his chest.

He’d look up briefly when Patroclus had entered, shooting him a small smile. A book was strewn across his lap, one hand pressed to the pages to follow the words, the other tapping a beat against his knee. It was...strange, to say the least. Achilles had taken to sleeping in on weekends since they’d moved in together, well over a year ago. He was rarely up before nine and if he was, he never remembered to make coffee. He’d make his breakfast, put the kettle on for tea, and go for a run. To see him up and about before six, poorly pretending to read a book (his finger hadn’t moved in the minutes Patroclus spent staring), with a fresh pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen was strange. And he’d never dare admit it, but Patroclus had grown used to his good morning kiss so he wasn’t the biggest fan of this new, _strange_ routine.

“Are you...alright?” he asked, slowly inching his way toward the kitchen.

“I’m fine, love,” Achilles said, waving him away. There was another smile in his voice and Patroclus may have melted a bit inside as he finally went to retrieve his favorite mug from the drainboard. He took the loveseat across from Achilles after grabbing a muffin from the kitchen counter--he’d need to thank Briseis again. Setting his mug down on the end table, he took a bite of the pastry, crumbs tumbling down his chin. His eyes drifted to the bay window and the curtains, usually left open overnight, were drawn shut. That’s when he heard it. The smallest of laughs in the back of Achilles’ throat, almost a giggle if his voice could pitch that high.

Patroclus narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, watching as the blonde coughed to hold back another non-giggle. “What?” Patroclus asked, and Achilles finally looked up, golden hair falling askew across his forehead. Patroclus’s fingers itched to run hands through it; brush it back.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said, finally casting aside the book. His smile was bright as a dying star, mischief dancing in his eyes. His teeth sunk into the plump skin of his bottom lip, rose giving way to white.

“What did you do?” Patroclus asked, equal parts suspicious and excited. Every day was an adventure with Achilles and his surprises were either very good, or very bad.

“Well…” Achilles drawled, standing up painfully slow and reaching out a hand to Patroclus. Patroclus hesitated for a moment before taking it. Achilles pulled him close, chest to chest, arms wrapped around Patroclus’s back in a tight embrace. “It’s really hot today.” That wasn’t what Patroclus had been expecting to hear––wouldn’t have guessed that if someone paid him to.

“...It’s summer. It tends to get hot,” he replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Achilles ear. He was confused but endeared.

“Yes, pretty humid, too,” Achilles said, slowly pulling Patroclus over to the window.

“Humid, too,” Patroclus laughed, as they finally came to a stop in front of the window, Achilles reaching out to grab the hem of the curtain.

“One could almost says that it’s... _muggy_?” Achilles asked before wrenching back the curtain to reveal the lawn. It took a minute for Patroclus to register what he was seeing but...nope, he was definitely seeing what he was seeing. All of their mugs were arranged on the lawn in the shape of a heart. Every single mug they owned, saved for the one behind them, was sitting on their dewey, muddy grass. At a loss for words, he turned to his fiancé, gesturing mutely from him to the lawn and back again. “It’s _muggy_ outside! Do you get it?” Achilles said, so proud of his genius that he was actually glowing. He was a sun orbiting his own shitty joke.

“Oh my gods,” Patroclus said, storming away to the laundry room to get a basket. He breathed deep to stop the impending fit of laughter, cheeks flushing with the effort. “I’m going to need to wash all of those mugs on a Saturday morning––”

“Babe?” Achilles called, chasing after him.

“I agreed to marry you, a _pun_ lover!” Patroclus fumed, tossing the dirty laundry onto the floor. He turned, basket clutched in a white-knuckled grip to see Achilles practically vibrating in the entry-way. He was uncertain if Patroclus was really mad, smile dimming as Patroclus glared on in silence.

“...Pat?”

“I agreed to marry you, you…” Patroclus said, cheeks a vibrant crimson and Achilles smile began to crumple. “You ridiculous, goofy, unbearably sweet, greek god of man!” Patroclus’ facade had broken by the time Achilles swooped in for a kiss, hands reaching up to cradle the sides of Patroclus’s face.

“So you thought it was funny?” Achilles asked, pulling back for a breath. His eyes were emeralds, brilliant as sunshine, smile bright and sharp with relief. Patroclus would do anything to bask in the weight of the happiness that covered them now.

“A real life comedian,” he sighed, leaning in for one last kiss before shoving the basket into Achilles hands. “But you’re going to go get those before our neighbors are up. I don’t need them wondering what other weird things we do with our mugs.”

“But if it’s muggy, I can’t pass up-–” Achilles began, only to be chased from the room by Patroclus who swatted after him with a stray t-shirt. “I love you!” he yelled, booking a hasty retreat outside.

“I love you, too!” Patroclus shouted with a laugh. “Always,” he muttered, watching Achilles through the window before going to check if any of their other dishes were missing. The last thing he needed was for their knives to line the sidewalk because there’d been some particularly _sharp_ gusts of wind...

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the tumblr prompt: Who says "it's muggy outside" after putting all the mugs on the front lawns and who threatens to leave them for saying that?
> 
> I've been on a Greek history kick for a while and just finished The Song of Achilles and Circe by Madeleine Miller which are PHENOMENAL. This was just a modern Patrochilles drabble!
> 
> As always, any feedback/comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!*


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